


Strong Like You

by DeadWriterShin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dominant Woman, F/M, Muscles, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sex, Size Difference, Slice of Life, Smut, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadWriterShin/pseuds/DeadWriterShin
Summary: (Male!Reader x Zarya)You (the reader) are Overwatch's newest medical officer, stationed at a secret location in Gibraltar. It's an exciting job, but you're a bit of a wallflower compared to the weird and colourful cast of characters that inhabit the base. After a mission gone awry, you're put in charge of caring for a peculiar woman with bright pink hair.





	1. The Rounds

**Author's Note:**

> Weird pairing I guess, haven't seen anybody do anything like this so.

You give a deep sigh, spinning from side to side on your chair. While it's certainly more exciting than your previous job, being a medical officer for a secret organization like Overwatch wasn't all fun and games. There was a lot of downtime while you waited for agents to come back from their missions, during which time you maintained the medical bay and occasionally assisted the upper management in their little projects. Not that you were going to complain; getting an opportunity to work under a living legend like Mercy was a dream come true. You shuffle through the paperwork on your white desk, twiddling a pen in your other hand. Last week Tracer had come down with a bad illness, it was tough getting the woman to sit in place for long enough to investigate. A thorough check later and she was knocked out for a fortnight. She wasn't pleased, neither were you, because with it came piles and piles of paperwork to manage.

Most of the agents had the kindness to be enhanced in some way via nano-technology. However a select few were not, forcing some prolonged stays under your supervision while they healed. Thankfully none of them had bad attitudes about it, unlike that Soldier 76 guy who came in once a month ago; confrontational from the word go and not interested in getting help.

Today was the day that the strike team would be finishing up in London, and hopefully coming back home in one piece. You check your watch. There's still a few hours before they're scheduled to return, and it's about time for you to make a round through the ward and see if anybody needs something. One thing you were tired of was the colour white, white walls, white uniforms, white furniture, you suppose it does help the cleaners find dirt though.

You push open the _white_ doors and stroll out into the ward. A simple room, with a nice view of the ocean, rows of beds run down either side with drawn curtains for the patient's privacy. Right now you're working with three people, a private from Tracer's team, a major who nearly lost an eye about two months ago, and Tracer herself, who's moved out of the ward and back into her own quarters.

You pull back the curtain to one of the beds, revealing the major. Some nasty scar tissue was running across the left side of his face, thankfully missing his eye. A month ago he was under the knife for some reconstructive surgery and a skin graft. He's looking much better now, but it'll certainly attract the attention of the newbies. You have absolutely no idea how it happened from the brief and muddled description he'd given you. He placed his e-book down onto the bed and rolled over to face you. He was a sharp looking man with dark hair.

"Mornin' Doc," he grumbled.

"Good morning Major, just checking up on you."

"I'm good," he pointed to his face, "well, except this whole thing I've got going on."

"It'll look much better once the swelling has gone down. That skin graft is some fine work."

"Didn't you do it?"

"I sat in and helped with anaesthesia, it was mostly Doctor Morris. We're just about ready to give you a clean bill and send you back to your room. We're waiting on the deep brain scan to see if any physical damage was done to your brain."

"I hope not."

"I wouldn't worry about it, from what you've told us, the impact was energy based, unless you cracked your head on the ground real hard I wouldn't worry."

"I am one lucky son of a gun huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Try to keep the rest of your face intact."

"I will."

"Anyway, timeline is DBS, report, and I'll have to talk with Mercy about getting a discharge for you. I'd say about... two days at the most."

"Alright, sounds good."

"Nothing else you need?"

"I'm all fine and dandy over here."

With a nod you backed away, the Major pulling back the curtain. The next silhouette was two beds down, the private from Tracer's little squad. Unlike the Major the Private had actually concussed himself on a mission, causing him to vomit and collapse in the hangar. He's been with you for three days now, and is getting close to a discharge.

You pulled away the curtain to find him face down on his pillow.

"Rise and shine?" you asked, prodding his back. He groaned and rolled over, bleary eyed and evidently not having slept well.

"Sorry Doctor. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

"That's... concerning. How come?"

"You know, headache."

"Well on the scale from mild irritation to sledgehammer, how bad was it?"

"Uh. About in-between I guess."

You scribble down some notes on your clipboard, maybe you'd have to extend his stay if this continued. A concussion would mean he might have trouble sleeping too.

"Well that's an issue. I'm waiting on a full scan for you too."

"How bad is it?"

"Vomiting, headache and trouble sleeping. Pretty bad. It might take a few weeks to recover in the worst case."

"And the best?"

"A few days. There really isn't much I can do about a head injury like this. I mean, nano-technology can do some amazing things, but it can't repair damage to something as complicated as the brain. We're just going to have to wait and see how things develop."

"Right. I don't feel much up to getting out of bed anyway."

"Good, because the only thing I can prescribe is bed-rest. Do you need anything before I head back?"

He vocalized a negative, before flopping back onto his pillow. Closing the curtains for him, you head back to the office. That didn't take nearly as long as you thought it would.

"Saviour to the hangar please, Saviour to the hangar!"

You groan, Mercy thought it would be "cute" to give everybody codenames. Obviously everybody in Overwatch had them, but your department was the only one where the boss had individually gone through and named each of you. You had the dubious honour of being named "Saviour." Maybe it was an ego thing.

Aside from that, being called to the hangar meant one of two things, the strike team was back early and somebody was dying in the carrier right now, or some idiot had gotten his arm trapped somewhere it shouldn't and they needed you to bring the butter from the kitchen.

You secretly hoped it was the second.

 


	2. Pink and Red

You rushed through the hallways of the base, nearly slipping on the shining floors. If they were requesting you personally, that probably means it's something urgent. You're one of the few active staff members in Gibraltar. Overwatch is much smaller, and a lot more illegal than it used to be. Every body counts, and trained medical staff are a rarity. It's not unusual for you to see hide nor hair of the other medical staff for weeks on end, many of them being sent off on assignment. Somebody had to stay behind and take care of the base though, so you were a familiar sight to the other staff in the facility.

The medbay had been placed close to the hangar for occasions such as this, making it easier for people to travel to and from each area. The tight hallways open up into a large cavern, with a open face leading into the evening sky. In front of it is the primary strike craft, it's engines still winding down from a long period of high power activity. They returned to the base in a hurry, and you quickly discover why.

Mercy is next to one of the stretchers from the carrier, which being carried by Winston and Genji. The person on the stretcher is a grisly sight, a muscular woman with bright pink hair, who is bleeding profusely from several cuts on her arms. The blood running down her chest tells you that something must have penetrated her top too.

"We need to get this woman to the medbay immediately," Mercy ordered, "Saviour, if you'd kindly prepare for surgery."

You nod and march alongside the trio. The other squad members watch on from the ramp as you head back the way you came.

"What do we have?" you ask, pulling out your clipboard once again.

"Deep lacerations in the upper arms, I believe that there may be a large quantity of shrapnel in her chest too. I've been using my Caduceus staff to keep her stable on the way here."

"So we'll need to cut her open then. Genji, Winston, take her through into the second room on the right, we need to do an x-ray as soon as possible."

The two nod and pull the stretcher through into the x-ray room, placing her gently down onto the bed in the middle. Meanwhile you are suiting up in your scrubs next door as Mercy watches.

"Would you like my help Saviour?"

"It'd be nice. You don't have anybody else in need of care?"

"No, the others only have minor injuries, this woman needs our full attention for now."

"Who is she anyway? I've never seen her on base before," you ask, cleaning your hands and donning a pair of gloves.

"She is from the Russian Defence Force, they were at the objective location to protect a Russian diplomat. Unfortunately, they were caught in the battle between us and Talon. Medical assistance was not forthcoming in such a remote location, so we deemed it safer to stabilize her and bring her here."

Sounds like the mission got messy. You remember being nearby during the briefing, a routine mission to track down a small Talon sleeper cell near London who were preparing to strike and cause a bit of an international incident. While it would certainly be faster to get her to a local hospital, it would be unlikely that they could help her without the power of Mercy's technology.

"And these injuries?"

"She protected a fellow soldier from a grenade."

"Damn. She must be a tough one."

Mercy smiles, "She certainly is. Let's do our best to make sure her sacrifice is rewarded."

"I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will, we picked you for a reason you know."

You're not as confident in yourself as she is, but you suppose she's right. The entire reason you got to work with Mercy in the first place was your gift for medicine.

"Mercy, can you handle the x-rays while I get the theatre ready?"

"Of course."

The two of you split off into the respective rooms. The theatre doesn't take much preparation, as it is often needed on short notice. However to work without a majority of the medical team with you is something new, you might even have to recruit some help in the form of Genji or Winston. You quickly set to work, laying out the freshly cleaned instruments.

 Soon enough the doors are pushed open by Mercy, who floats over to the lightbox and hangs up a series of x-rays. Various white pieces can be seen within her arms. Mercifully, only a few have penetrated her chest. From an outside observer's perspective, a routine foreign object surgery. But the number and location of the objects has you worried, it'll take all of your concentration to remove them. You feel a reassuring hand on your shoulder as Mercy nods, "Do not worry friend, I am certain that you will succeed."

You hoped so too.

"Alright, bring her in. Let's see what we can do."

Mercy left the room for a moment, before returning with the stretcher in tow. It would be too dangerous to move her further, you walk over to the central controls and order the operating table to lower itself into the ground, leaving the area clear. Mercy slides the Russian under the central device in the room. Mercy's magnum opus, a powerful piece of technology making full use of her healing advancements. It would help keep the patient stable while you worked. It took the form of a large central cylinder, with lights for visibility.

It was like her staff, only fifty times more intense and fifty times as large. You'd need to cut somebody's head off to kill them while under it.

With the machine turned on, you quickly set about marking out the important areas of the patient. The key problems were two pieces in particular, one in her left arm close to a major artery, and another, long thin piece that has nearly penetrated one of her lungs. If that thing moved, it could cause serious problems for you.

Mercy strapped a mask to the Russian and slowly released the gas to keep her under. The last thing you wanted was for her to move now. You reach over to the tray and pull out a pair of surgical scissors. You start from the bottom of her strange jumpsuit and cut upwards, revealing her chest and abs. Cutting under the arms too, you pull away the piece of clothing to leave her top half naked. You hiss as you notice the amount of blood dribbling down her body, you can almost feel that.

 You can feel the sweat coming on already, this is going to be a tough few hours. 


	3. Rest and Relaxation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words.

A bead of sweat rolls down your face, unbidden. A shaking hand grips the scalpels tightly. To your left lies a metal tray bloodied from the various pieces of metal pulled from the woman's body. It's a miracle that none of them damaged anything too important, she must have had some kind of protection to take such a blast directly.

You lean down closer and hover over the open wound. It's been a long process, but even now close to the finish you're still feeling the pressure. One wrong move could cut her artery which would open up a whole new can of worms. Mercy stands to the right of the stretcher silently, occasionally looking over to monitor her vitals and the life support machine.

Taking a deep breath you steady your hand and insert the forceps into the wound. With participated precision you push deeper and feel the contact with the medium sized piece of metal. Opening them, you slip the forceps around the piece and slowly begin to withdraw your hand. With the detailed scan taken by Mercy, you know exactly what kind of shape it is, making it much easier to pull out.

You release a sigh as you see the metal meet the cool air. You hold it up for a second, before placing it down on the tray with the others. Doing such an operation without any assistance from the medical team is a miracle in itself, never mind for such a delicate situation.

"Okay, turn it up Mercy."

She nods and leans over, increasing the power of the... you don't know what she calls it actually. Either way it works it's magic and closes up the lacerations that are left on her body, leaving behind feint scars. A good time saver and much easier than stitching them manually. Mercy's staff and the machine inspired by it are good for minor injuries, although it's regenerative properties are no good for foreign objects.

"Second x-ray, just to make sure. Then we can let her rest."

"I have to say you've really outdone yourself Saviour."

You roll your eyes at the praise, "I'm sure the others could do it too."

Mercy sighed, "Can you ever just take a compliment? You're probably the best surgeon here."

"I think it's a bit unfair to the others," you quip, peeling the gloves from your hands. The room is going to need a good clean afterwards.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about being good at something," she adds as you push the stretcher out of the room, this woman is really heavy! You decide to keep quiet on the topic, Mercy just doesn't seem to get how you feel about it.

"So... do you know anything about her beyond her connection to the RDF?"

"Winston's been searching through the records to get some more information. He believes that her name is Aleksandra Zaryanova. She's a bit of a celebrity back home."

"And they aren't going to wonder where she's gone to?"

You enter the x-ray room once more and position "Aleksandra" under the machinery. Mercy hums to herself, "We may have to contact the authorities regarding her situation. In the worst case, we could transfer her to a proper hospital and let them figure it out."

 Yeah right, she'll probably be with you for months.

 

* * *

 

The second scan came up clear, meaning that your newest patient was clear for the moment. You dressed her arms to make sure she couldn't move them while they heal and secured her in one of the ward's beds. Moving her onto the bed was a huge pain in the ass, this woman clearly lifted.

The other patients were curious about the strange looking woman and so were you. You're pretty certain that bright pink wasn't military standard, then again you work for a secret vigilante organization run by a giant ape. She has a large tattoo on her shoulder, a big number 512. She was also no stranger to injury, judging by the large cross shaped scar above her brow.

After dealing with her you had several other injuries to take care of, nowhere near as complicated or troubling as hers though. You idly wondered how she'd react when she woke up, would she get aggressive? Or would she be out of it long enough for you to explain?

 She dominated your thoughts for much of the day, distracting you from the normally boring task of filling in paperwork. Mercy was busy herself in the labs, leaving you with no company once again. The first interaction with a patient was always a little awkward, doubly so if you've helped them by flying them over to a secret base in British waters and pulling shrapnel from their body.

You looked at your monitor and found that it was nearly ten o' clock, you needed to be up bright and early. You struggled to sleep with such thoughts swirling in your mind.

The next morning began as it always did, a bleary eyed, dishevelled version of yourself wandering the quarters like a zombie. Rushing to the coffee machine before anybody else could reach it, and then hurrying to clothe yourself when you realize you're late for the morning brief. It took place in the hangar every morning, the assembled staff members arranging themselves in a temporary theatre to listen to the latest developments from Winston.

You were one of the last few to dribble into the large cavern. You plopped yourself down onto a crate and awaited the arrival of the boss. You could hear the excited chatter of the staff around you. Allegedly he was going to be making a big announcement, a potential breakthrough in the fight against Talon. For an organization full of spies and soldiers, classified information seemed to leak more often than not; maybe that's the problem in the first place.

Winston arrived a few minutes after you, adjusting his glasses as he approached the assembled crew. He scanned over the crowd, stopping on you for a moment before moving on. Mercy stood next to him with a smile. "It's good to see that everybody's here. We have an important announcement to make today," she said, catching their attention.

"Yes, we've made great progress towards locating Talon's major forward base in Europe. And after our last skirmish in London, we've successfully narrowed it down even further. We've already sent out Tracer's squad to try and find the exact location," Winston elaborated.

"We need you to be prepared at all times from this point onward," Mercy butts in. "The order could come down at any time."

"I expect to see the very best out of all of you. This is not going to be an easy mission to accomplish, but if we succeed we will have dealt a near fatal blow to Talon. The next order of business for me to discuss is our guest in the medbay. Please do not pester the good Doctors about her, nothing they can tell you is interesting enough for the effort," Winston scoffed.

You feel 20 pairs of eyes on your back, you shuffle uncomfortably.

"I mean it," Mercy threatened, "I know everybody on this base can be curious at worst, but please do not barge into the medbay without good reason. We do some very important work in there and we'd like to work without interruption."

The crowd grunted an affirmative. They may be rowdy at times, but if there's anything Overwatch is good at it's following orders.

Winston coughed, "In any case, make sure you're ready to move at any time. Get your gear out and make sure it's combat ready, we could end up calling every active agent into this mission. Dismissed."

The crowd slowly dispersed, most heading over to the barracks to prepare themselves. You on the other hand take a left and head to the medbay. To be honest you're pretty confined away from the rumblings in the base, your primary concern being helping those who are ill or injured, the specifics aren't really important to your position.

 You can see one of your patients, the Major, hanging outside the ward door with an apprehensive look on his face. 

"Why are you hanging about out here?" you ask as he pulls his eyes away from the window.

"That woman you brought in yesterday woke up while I was in the bathroom. Have you seen the size of her? I'm kind of scared to go back in there."

"I doubt she'd be able to do anything, even if she wanted to kill you. Her arms are going to hurt pretty badly."

"Well I'm not taking any chances."

With a sigh you push open the doors as he splutters for a moment, "Have you seen the size of her!"

The woman looks at you as you approach her bed. You give her a disarming smile and pull up a chair. A trick you learned from Mercy, they feel a lot less threatened when you remove yourself from a position of authority.

 "Good morning miss Zaryanova."

She raises a thick eyebrow at your greeting.

"Good morning? Who are you exactly?" She has a thick Russian accent, you give pause for a moment and consider how much information to divulge.

"I'm the Doctor here on the base. You can call me Saviour, or Doctor, whichever you prefer."

She doesn't seem satisfied given that you've withheld your real name. It's basic Overwatch protocol to hide your personal identity from guests; on a few occasions before you were hired at least two agents were killed in their own homes thanks to such a blunder.

"And what am I doing here Doctor?"

"Well, during the skirmish in London, it appears you were hit indirectly by a grenade blast. There were several pieces of shrapnel embedded into your chest and arms. The agents of the scene forwent transporting you to a local hospital under the belief that they would not be capable of saving you. Instead you were brought here and placed under my care. Yesterday we preformed an operation to remove the shrapnel from your body."

"Yet I do not bleed, no scars?"

"You can thank Doctor Mercy for that. The wounds were fairly small, and thanks to the applications of her bio technology closing up lacerations like that is easy. The real danger was the shrapnel, one of those pieces was dangerously close to an artery and another was close to your internal organs."

 "My arms do feel sore."

"That'll pass in a few days while they recover from the damage. Try not to move them."

The woman nodded and looked out of the window.

"Where am I? This is no Talon base."

"If we were Talon we wouldn't be having this discussion. I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to say where we are. I'll get the boss down here and they can take on some of your questions."

Once again she seems slightly miffed by your evasiveness.

"I suppose I must wait."

You chew on your lip and stand up from the seat, "Don't worry, you're among friends here."

"I do not trust so easily."

"Well I hope I can do something to earn it then, something that isn't pulling pieces of metal from you."

"We will see Doctor."


	4. The Good Doctor

Zaryanova did not require any further assistance, so after informing her on Overwatch medical policy and asking her what she would like for breakfast, you head off into the offices to find Mercy. Mercy was busy as always with her own paperwork, her desk sat opposite yours.

"Our new guest has some burning questions you know," you say as you sit down on your own chair.

"I will speak with her momentarily. Winston has been very... meticulous with his clearances lately."

Meticulous, more like a bit of a control freak. The guy had a hand in everything that happened on base even when it wasn't really needed. You were lucky that he didn't hover over your shoulder for the duration of the operation. You shake your head and pull up Ms Zaryanova's file.

"Am I going to have to do the courier work again?" you ask, knowing full well that the kitchen staff is often too busy to do it themselves.

Mercy chuckles to herself, "Yes."

"I signed on to be a Doctor, not the food delivery service."

"Bringing food to your patients is just as important as operating you know."

"Yeah, but I didn't trap myself in education for seven years to roll a trolley through the base."

Mercy shook her head with a smile.

"Did you see what she ordered? The kitchen is going to be damn busy."

"I imagine she needs it to maintain her impressive physique."

"Winston better order an extra shipment of supplies if she's staying here long."

The two of you fill out paperwork in silence for an hour. You wonder about your new patient, and how she could crush your head with her thighs most likely.

Yikes, moving on. It's about time that you get food for the ward.

 

* * *

 

You park the burgeoning cart next to Ms. Zaryanova's bed. You can see her shadow move through the drawn curtains, "Miss Zaryanova, I've got your meal here."

A thick, muscular arm reaches over and pulls the curtain away, revealing a slightly haggard looking woman whose pink hair is lying limp against her head. From the length, you can tell it's meant to be styled and not left like that.

"You're looking a bit tired, did something keep you up?" you ask as you bring the tray over from the cart. She sighs as you place it on the bed mounted table running across her lap.

"Yes, the man in the bed over there was very noisy last night," she explains, pointing to the private who is currently fast asleep.

"Was he vomiting again?"

"I believe so."

"Well it looks like he isn't getting discharged then," you mutter, making a mental note to bring it up with Mercy later. You're starting to get seriously concerned about his health, at the very least these symptoms should have calmed down by now.

Zaryanova looks down at her food, poking it with a fork, "Hm. Not my standard meal," she grunts. The meal itself consisted on some soup, bread and mashed potato. 

"Sorry for that, we don't really have a big variety of stuff here on base. It's either that or the rations, and you don't want to eat those if you can avoid it."

"I suppose I am in no condition to complete my routine anyway," she chuckles.

"Routine?"

"You do not get arms like these without some planning. I take great pride in my physical prowess!" Her arms flex slightly, the bulging muscle expanding slightly as she does. You realize you should try to stay on her good side, even if she can't walk right now. You push the cart out of the way and pull up a chair.

"Mercy would like me to ask you a few questions about how you're feeling, would you be okay with that?"

She nods.

"How is the feeling in your arms? I'm concerned about potential nerve damage."

"They are numb, but still usable. You do good job."

"Flattering, are you suffering from any symptoms like headaches, vomiting, nausea, or dizziness?"

"No," she says before shovelling more potato into her mouth.

"Do you have any previous medical conditions or medications that we should be aware of?"

"No."

"Good. If you feel anything coming on please tell us right away."

 She grunted as she polished off the last of the food in record time. She hands you the tray, which you place back onto the cart. "We got through all that a bit quicker than I expected, do you have any more questions?"

"I thought you would not answer them."

"I've talked to Mercy about it, and I'm clear on what I can and can't say."

"And that is?"

"Where we are, both the base and this room, and who's on the outside of this room. Anything else is fair play."

"Hmf. The two questions I am interested in asking," she pouts, crossing her arms.

"I'm sure you've got more questions than that."

"Yes, but they are not as important."

"Shoot."

"You saw me naked, yes?"

You blank for a moment as the question registers, "Yes, in order to correctly asses and access your wounds we removed your top." Despite the bluntness of the question it would take more than that to fluster you, in your line of work it was expected that you'd see a few private parts during an operation.

"Ah, and I hope it was kept strictly professional," she smirks.

"Indeed," you respond, equally bluntly. She pouts again, realizing her little jabs aren't working. You afford yourself a laugh, "Do you have something more serious?"

"What is the name of my guardian angel?" she postures, hand waving in the air.

"Saviour."

"Your parents, they must dislike you intensely, no?"

"No. It's a codename."

"Your real name..."

"Doesn't exist in here, in this base I'm Saviour, resident surgeon."

"A confidentiality exercise."

"Actually, Mercy is a dork and likes to give out nicknames."

 "You have a little theme going on eh?" she laughed.

"Oh yeah, we also have Colostomy Bag and Prostate Exam."

"What is colostomy?" she asks, evidently oblivious to the phrase. You could hear the whoosh as the joke flew right over her head.

"It... doesn't matter, bad joke," you dismiss. "Me and Mercy are the only full time medical staff."

"I thought you would not tell me about who is here?"

"You're going to see both of us eventually. By staff I mean how many people are here, who's doing what, you know?"

"I think you are trying to save face, you are not as smart as you think you are!"

You roll your eyes. The doors open at the end of the ward as Mercy floats into the room with her usual grace and poise. You wave her over, and she gives Zaryanova a serine, some would say disarming smile. "Good morning Ms. Zaryanova!" she chirps, the eternal ray of sunshine.

"Please, just call me Zarya, all of my friends do. Although they are not many," she muses.

"Of course Zarya, I trust that you are finding the company of my partner stimulating?"

Mercy has a very strange definition of stimulating. Some might say that a cross-word is stimulating, or maybe an engaging movie or book. For Mercy anything that creates electrical signals in the brain is stimulating, to such an extent that you now believe it's her favourite word. One thing that certainly is not any of those things is talking to you, whose primary field of expertise is how to correctly identify damaged tissue and cut people up with a knife. It's often said that Doctors are just that, because they rarely get time to themselves, you think it's bullshit, you _never_ get time to yourself. You're in a base that's the superhero equivalent of a daycare centre.

"Not particularly," Zarya shrugs.

"I've only been in here for half an hour. What dragged you out of the office?"

Mercy shakes her head, "Am I not allowed to leave my office?" she smirks, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get rid of me."

"God no. It's bad enough in here with two of us."

"I wanted to meet our new guest. How are you feeling?"

"I feel not good, but it is an improvement from bleeding and dying."

"It's all about perspective isn't it," Mercy hummed. "It might take a few weeks for the pain in your arms to go away fully. We can prescribe painkillers if they are too much-"

"No, no, no. I need no painkillers," Zarya insisted, "This is child's play."

"Are you certain? We've prescribed more for less," Mercy insisted.

"It is a matter of pride for me, nothing in life comes from doing things easy way."

You wouldn't call not suffering from injured arms the easy way, but people have all kinds of crazy ideas about life you suppose. She certainly is a bit prideful.

"Very well, but don't be afraid to approach us for assistance."

You nod, "I'm on call... all the time," you sigh. You rise from your seat and whisper to Mercy, "We need to talk about the private, he's still being sick."

Mercy nodded and pulled you away from the bed, "We will check on you again in a few hours."


	5. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while, sorry.

Despite Zarya being in the ward for nearly a week now, you're still no closer to learning anything about her apart from her love for bodybuilding. She seems to be very tight lipped about herself, and you're not exactly interesting either. The conversations are short and formal, which is a shame as you usually know the people you treat.

The Private has finally started to show some signs of recovery. After you pulled Mercy aside she decided to run some more tests, and realized that she may have underestimated the damage on her first pass. Still, it was nothing that a slightly extended stay in the ward couldn't fix. He's finally up and mobile, which means that he's about ready to go back to his own quarters for the remainder of his recovery. The Major was discharged a couple of days ago with a healthy dose of painkillers and orders to check in every day to make sure his face didn't get infected.

Which means that Zarya is the only one left on the ward. Barring any major incidents, it would be unlikely that anybody else would be joining her; then again the men and women of Overwatch always find new and creative ways to maim themselves.

"Good morning Zarya," you greet her as you walk into the ward. Despite seeing her several days in a row her appearance still surprises you, she stocky and muscular, but still a head higher than you (at least.) This was a woman who was built to do heavy lifting.

"Morning Doctor," she responds.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can do for you today."

"No, I would like to ask you a question."

"We've been through this before."

"I know, but it is a question of a personal nature."

You place the clipboard onto the bedside table with a frown, "And that is?"

"Why do you do this?"

"Do what? Be a doctor, work here?"

"Both, you do not strike me as the kind of person to elect yourself to a... noble cause."

"Would you believe me if I said I'm doing it just because I'm good at it?"

"No."

"Well would you believe me if I said it was because I'm interested in helping people."

"Maybe," she purses her lips at the thought.

You scratched your chin, "Why does it matter?"

"I was thinking maybe we have something in common."

"I'm here because it's something different. You know how many people jump out of medical school and into their local A&E? I mean, that's great! Helping out people living in cities and towns isn't something to scoff at. But out here, we get all this crazy technology, and we get to work with some of the most brilliant people you'll ever meet. I get to support a group that's making a difference in a different way, by bringing a bit of peace when everything's going crazy."

Zarya laid down on her bed and looked to the ceiling, "Good answer."

"It also helps that I'm one of the best medical minds in the world, in an objective sense. Otherwise they would have told me to piss off."

Zarya lets out a very unladylike snort, "It seems this base is full of people like that."

"Yeah, it's pretty crazy in here sometimes. What do you do?"

"It is very simple, I am soldier in the Russian Defence Force. I joined because I wanted to protect my friends and family during the omnic crisis."

 How noble of her. As far as you know, she used to be a pretty big celebrity in the weightlifting world, but gave it all up to join the RDF. Now you might have known that already, but it seems like this is a good way to get her to open up a little bit about herself.

"Do you have any family?" she asks.

"My mother and father are back home, they think I'm working in LEDC countries at struggling hospitals. They can come up with a pretty convincing cover story when they want to. They're the kind of people who want the best for their kid, but they were pretty pushy when I was younger; it was be a doctor, a lawyer or nothing," you pull a chair over and sit next to the bed.

"Hm. Did you not want to be a doctor?"

"Not at first, but I was really good at it, as it turns out. After a while I started to appreciate it more and more, and now I can't think of doing anything else."

"You like to help people."

"That, and I like to talk to them. You meet a lot of interesting people."

"Like?"

"Like you, it's not everyday you meet the strongest woman in the world."

 Zarya brushes off the compliment, "Probably not so any more, I do not have as much time to train as I used to. I'm certain somebody has come up with a scheme to overtake me."

You lean back, "You ever think about giving up the fight and lifting again?"

She ponders the question for a moment, glancing out of the window and out onto the open ocean. "When the time is right. I cannot fight forever, and hopefully one day there will be no need. But until then I want to protect my family above all else."

"Just make sure you don't end up like some of the people in this base. One of the people on the strike team is sixty freaking years old, fighting is the only thing he ever talks about."

"I probably will not be able to walk by then," Zarya grimaced, evidently in reference to her size.

"Well I'd be more optimistic than that, worse case scenario you can get bionic legs and hang out with all the other cyborg people."

"Like a secret club?"

"I've seen them doing a secret handshake before."

Zarya laughs, a boisterous, slightly masculine laugh deep from her wide chest. Personally you didn't think it was that funny, you get the impression she is easily amused. You take some time to study her face more. She has a very strong jawline, and on anybody else it could be described as masculine, but on her it's... quite pretty. She has a pale, cross shaped scar running across one eye, she's lucky she didn't lose it. And of course she has striking pink hair, although considering the people on the base it was nothing too out of the ordinary, but wouldn't it put her at a disadvantage on the battlefield?

Her body is chiselled out of stone, even when resting her biceps bulge outwards. Muscular atrophy could be setting in soon given how much time she's spent in bed, but in all honestly you couldn't tell due to her size anyway. She looks like she could easily pick you up and carry you across the base with no problem. You blush slightly, before quickly hiding your face in your hands as she begins to calm down. Get yourself together. You've already seen her naked... bleeding to death in an operating theatre. So maybe the principle isn't quite the same.

You have to admit to yourself that you find her rather attractive. You take a few deep breaths and come up for air.

"What are you doing?" she asks oblivious to your internal musings.

"Uh. I thought I was gonna' sneeze."

Change the subject, dumbass.

"How are your arms feeling?"

"I am beginning to feel them again, although it is still dull," she pulls her arms up slowly, wobbling slightly in the process.

"That's good, once you feel confident enough you can do some exercises to build back up the damaged muscle tissue. And from there it's mostly just waiting for you to recover completely."

"That is good news. But I have another question. Do they RDF know I am here?"

You bite your lip, you should be okay to tell her this. "Yes, Mercy has been in contact with them regarding transferring you back to them in due time. They weren't happy about us bringing you here."

"Why did you not leave me in their care, or even take me to hospital in London?"

"It was a hot extraction, we had to use one of our own carriers; and the hospital in London doesn't have the capability to land a craft of that size. By the time we got the carrier down somewhere and you into the place it'd be faster just to bring you over here, those things are damn fast."

"Hm. So a merging of convenience and necessity."

"I'm going to be perfectly honest, I think if they'd spent any time trying to get you into that hospital you'd have bled out. They'd be carting you through half the city at that point."

Zarya frowned, "I am a very lucky woman."

"I wouldn't say lucky in that case, the damage was bad enough. It could only get worse if that shrapnel in your chest had gone a few inches deeper and punctured something."

"Still, that is the reality of fighting. Sometimes you are injured, but sometimes you die. We all do our part to protect each other and make sure that it does not happen."

That's a morbid way to look at it, you think to yourself. You both sit in silence for a minute or so, before Mercy causes your walkie talkie to crackle to life, "Saviour, could you come to the office please?"

"Shit, looks like duty calls Zarya."

"I understand. Thank you for talking to me, it can be too quiet in here."

"Well I'll try to come down more often, of course that all depends on whether somebody puts their hand into a blender or not."

You put the chair back into it's place and wave goodbye as you leave the ward.


	6. Walking Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is too short

After two weeks of being bed-ridden it was time for Zarya to stand for the first time since arriving. It had been a long process, even with the incredible healing technology on hand, but now she looked to preform two more weeks of rehabilitation to re-build her strength. That being said, Zarya is still built like a brick-shithouse, only losing some definition and mass since she arrived. The two of you continued to have your lunchtime conversations, and you can safely say that you're maybe friends now. Zarya doesn't have much left to discuss that isn't military secrets, so you regale her with stories from around the base and bring her magazines to read.

You and Mercy decided that letting her try on her own was a good place to start, so as of now the two of you are stood at the end of her bed pulling over a harness, which is attached to a hovering drone.

"What is that for?" Zarya asks.

"Harness, you've been in bed for two weeks and we don't want you falling down and cracking your skull open," you explain as it hovers over the bed. Zarya grimaces slightly at the thought. One thing you've learnt over your time talking with her is that she dislikes accepting help when she feels she can do something on her own.

"And there is no room for argument?" she continues.

"It's only a precaution, you don't want to be in here any longer right?"

"Fine," she pouts.

Mercy gives you a strange look, which you return. "Something up?"

"No, no. Just thinking about something..."

"Something?" you shake your head, pulling down the straps as Angela gets Zarya sat up.

"Can't a girl keep her thoughts to herself?"

"Not when she's looking at me like I just kicked a dog," you comment. You wrap the two straps around her upper arms, which she flexes slightly, testing the limits of the already stretched fabric. Another strap goes around her midsection, from where you accidental cop a feel of her hard abs under the thin hospital gown. You blush at the contact with her warm skin and quickly back away. Zarya doesn't seem to notice, or at least doesn't feel the need to comment.

"Alright, you're strapped in."

Angela smiles and claps her hands together, "Let's get you standing."

Zarya swings her legs over the edge of the hospital bed, putting her arms down onto the mattress and slowly pushing up to give herself the momentum needed. It's been a long time since she's been up and about, and her legs might not remember how to work properly. If she has trouble there's no reason to worry, the harness will stop her from falling over. Zarya stumbles slightly, pulling the drone further out into the room. Her legs quake with the effort. She struggles to maintain her balance but eventually settles, stood dead still a meter away from the bed.

"That's a very good start," Angela nodded, "But remember to take your time!" Zarya nods but mumbles something under her breath. You can tell that she's the independent type. She struggles to take her first step, even with the assistance of the drone above her. Not that it's unexpected, she's been in bed for a long time, the fact that she can even stand is a testament to her immense strength.

"Wow," you clap your hands, "That's pretty crazy."

"Are you certain that you've never been injected with a super solider serum?" Angela asks with a giggle.

"I'm shaking like a lamb, I do not see the value in my standing," Zarya huffs.

"If you were anybody else you probably wouldn't be able to stand at all," you comment taking a seat. "We're going to be doing this for a couple hours every day until you can walk on your own again. Then we'll see about rehabbing you properly."

"You can use our gym, it's very nice. I also heard that Tracer wants to see what you can do, so she'll probably let you in on her circuit training," Mercy tells her as Zarya reseats herself. "Now that we know you can stand, we're going to do some leg exercises to help build up the muscle..."

"I'm not needed right? Winston wanted to see me today for some reason," you inform her, she nods along.

"Oh yes, I'm quite sure we'll be fine here. I think Winston will be in his lab."

With a nod you depart to see the quasi-bossman.


	7. Goodbye For Now

Winston had a lot to say about the current situation with Zarya, but ultimately it boiled down to organizing her return. Overwatch wasn't really all that legal after all, and the Russian government had no idea what had happened to one of their biggest national heroes apart from a single message sent to her unit when you picked her up. Overwatch couldn't let a government body like that find out about it's existence. Instead, Winston concluded, Zarya would have to be delivered to the Russian embassy in London, then they could deal with getting her back home. The obvious problem was doing so without raising suspicions about where she'd been all this time.

You promised Winston that you'd talk to her about it. You kind of feel like you're exploiting the trust you've built up over the past few weeks by asking her to do this, so you pace outside of the ward's door for nearly twenty minutes before you remember that you need to get it done today. You steel your nerves and enter the ward. Zarya is dangling her legs off the side of the bed, trying to regain more of her strength.

"Hello Zarya," you greet her with your practised Doctor's smile.

"Good afternoon Doctor," she responds with her own grin.

"Serious business talk," you say up front, she nods in understanding. "Winton's talking about getting you off base and back to Russia, now that you're not in any immediate danger."

"Ah, of course," she nods. "But I suppose it is not that simple?"

"Well, Overwatch isn't exactly... legal any more. Or at least, it's not in the public's positive opinion. A lot of the work we do is Anonymous. If anybody ever gets caught in the field, we don't exist, they were doing it on their own."

"And that makes it hard to release me."

"You're... well, very famous. It'd be hard to get you anywhere without somebody recognizing you. But that's not what Winston is worried about. He wants to get assurance that you won't talk about us. His first priority is our safety, as silly as it can be sometimes."

"Hm," she grunts. "I understand."

"So, instead of being rescued by us and flown down here to Gibraltar. You were taken to a nearby hospital and treated for your injuries."

"But won't it be easy for them to find the truth?"

"Winston has all that covered, he knows a lot of people in a lot of places. Getting some Doctors to give it some credibility won't be hard."

Zarya nods again, "I will give you this favour, for saving my life, I will never speak of this place to another soul."

And she didn't.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, with the cover story in place, you wheeled Zarya out to the hanger in a wheelchair. She'd regained a remarkable amount of body strength already, but would need to complete the therapy at home. She's really heavy, even after losing some of her muscle mass while lying in bed. You silently thank Tracer for dragging you along to her fitness sessions. Nobody else was there to see her off, except the pilot, but he hadn't met her before. He points to the back of the smaller carrier, "Just put her in the back here, not glamorous, but it's the only wheelchair space we got."

With that he walks down into the cockpit and starts the engines. You position Zarya into the spot as she pulls down the straps to secure herself, you kneel down and wrap them around the frame to prevent it from moving in flight. "Well, I guess this is bye for now Zarya."

"It seems that way Doctor. Thank you for your assistance."

"Don't worry about it, that's what it's all about here."

You can't help but feel a little melancholy as you see off a patient you've spent a lot of time around, unlike the irritation you feel towards some of the people on base who you'd rather leave sooner than later. "Maybe we'll meet again next time in less stressful circumstances, eh?" You knew that the odds of seeing her again were low, but in this business, maybe you would eventually.

Zarya chuckles, "I hope so."

You hear the radio crackle from the wall, "Alright Saviour, we're lifting off in one!"

"Try not to get yourself killed out there."

"I can make no promises."

You sigh and pull away, stepping off the ramp. It slowly closes up as Zarya offers a brief wave of goodbye, obscuring her bright pink hair for what you thought would be the last time. You watch even as the jet pulls away over the Horizon and heads back to London. With the jet gone, you turn on your heel and mope back to the ward, one of Tracer's boys concussed himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise we'll get to the sin soon


	8. Gearing Up

Work dragged along at a snails pace for nearly a year afterwards. Despite her brief stay in your ward, Zarya left a big impact. Not just because of her imposing figure, although you certainly found that attractive. You have to admit a few times you thought about her pinning you down an- you cough and cover your blushing face with your clipboard. No, the real reason was because she was a new face, a meteoric impact into your shitty every day routine. The biggest thing that's happened since is one of Tracer's boys being put into forced retirement by one too many concussions. You still wonder how he kept doing it.

Although now, sat in the meeting room with Winston and Mercy, you kind of wish that you hadn't thought that way. Mercy is frowning, her left arm in a sling. Unfortunately the usually untouchable Mercy had gotten caught out and ended up with a broken arm for the effort. Not only increasing your own workload significantly, but also...

"You're moving me onto active duty?"

Winston nods, "We need combat medics on the field, and you're the first person on my radar."

Mercy sighs, "I understand that you don't have much combat experience. But Winston wants you to go out on some routine operations so you can start learning."

Certainly, you know how to point a gun. But firing at the range and firing at real, thinking people are two different beasts. You've never been out on the field, not once since joining Overwatch years ago. Mercy always handled that kind of thing. She was the most familiar with the technology and had the experience that you didn't. But you were more than happy to work in the ward, even if it was boring sometimes. Mercy sees right through you.

"Don't look so worried, everyone has to start somewhere. My first operation, I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Ahem," Winston interrupts. "We're not throwing you to the lions. These are low risk assignments with a minute chance of actual combat."

 "I don't doubt that," you respond. "This is what I signed up for, I'll handle it."

Mercy smiles. "Speaking of which, I have something new from the technology department in the operating theatre. Come see me after Winston is finished."

Mercy excuses herself, leaving you alone with Winston. "Moving you onto active duty, not much will change with your day to day responsibilities. However, you'll be asked to attend the daily briefings we hold in the hangar from 0800 sharp. That's where we hand out the assignments, if any."

You nod along.

"As our other leading medic, you'll be assigned to whichever team needs you the most. Generally you'll be sent out once a month."

It probably sounds weird when you hear that there are two lead medics in the organization. But most squads are assigned a combat medic, trained externally, usually with some smaller version of the biotic technology that Mercy pioneered. You know for a fact that Soldier 76 carries a canister with him, for example. The biotics were simple enough that it only required a day's training to use properly, but for larger operations it was Overwatch mandate to bring a specialist medic in case things go horribly wrong. These operations were so rare that you'd never been called out on one, as Mercy was always available.

"Sorry to spoil the surprise, but the technology department has already sent your gear to your ward. That's probably what Mercy wanted to show you." Winston adjusts his glasses and leans back into his weird... tyre chair.

"I'll go down and see her then."

Winston nods and waves as you leave.

 

* * *

 

By the time you get back down to the infirmary, Mercy has already laid out your gear on the operating table. Mercy could usually be seen wearing her uniform as she was on active duty, but that didn't stop her from taking it off in her office. Your own uniform was similar to hers, white and orange. The first time you met Mercy she told you that people found those colours calming, but as you've gotten to know her you've had a sneaking suspicion that they're just her favourite colours. Either way a lot of Overwatch operatives have Orange in their uniform now, a contrast to the deep blue you've seen in Angela's photos from the old days.

First, you take a look at your uniform. It consists of a white beret with Overwatch's logo (usually worn inside and taken off during operations, you are meant to be a secret after all.) A similarly coloured bullet-proof vest with a large collar that nearly covers the lower half of your mouth, an orange under shirt donned with pockets and the flag of your home nation. Black trousers, white knee pads and black combat boots. It's standard fare for medical operatives. Mercy had initially pushed for them to have the red cross stitched onto them somewhere, but Winston was quick to point out that the medics in Overwatch were still technically combatants. There was also a longer, fancy looking white coat for when you weren't wearing the vest inside. And of course a holster for a side arm.

As you look over the clothing, Mercy (with one arm) pulls out a heavy metal box and slides it towards you. You pop open the latches to reveal a simple black pistol (for self defence,) and more importantly your biotic emitter. Mercy's staff was rather large and outdated considering the advancement of the technology, but she'd grown so used to it that she insisted on keeping it. You on the other hand had no such attachment, so as a result the emitter is actually a glove, with an emitter mounted to it. It's sleek and white, much like the rest of your armour, an outside observer probably wouldn't be able to guess what it was.

The emitter is positioned on the top of your forearm, meaning you're still free to use your hand. A wire runs along your arm and into a mobile battery in the back of the bullet proof vest. As a result you look like a bit of a hunchback, the vest is a bit bigger than your chest to allow for the battery.

Mercy surprises you by kicking another, larger chest over to you. "You have your normal biotic emitter. But they also sent this down." You open the case to reveal what seems to be a rifle, covered in similar white panelling to the rest of the tech. But you know for a fact that the nerds in the lab wouldn't leave it at that. You spin it around in your hands, there's a magazine compartment, and it seems to take the same ammunition as the other standard issue rifles, but there's also a plug socket and an under-mount position that is mysteriously empty. Additionally the front part of the gun is much bulkier than usual, there are two separate barrels running through it. One is covered by glass and doesn't seem to be wide enough for a bullet.

You put two and two together and dismount the emitter from the arm rail, sliding it onto the rifle and plugging it in. A visual display lights up on the back, revealing a secondary battery.

"Of course. Can we tell those guys to stop watching so much transformers?"

Mercy smiles, "They just make sure that you have everything you need. The normal emitter has a shorter range, but when attached to the rifle it goes through a focus lens and becomes much more effective at longer distances."

You admire it for a moment before putting it back into the case. "Guess I'll get dressed then."

Mercy leaves the room as you gear up.

You end up wearing the shirt, trousers, beret, boots and coat. Not many operatives in Overwatch get berets, even though they were standard fare for most militaries around the world. Since you were technically a sergeant, and second to Mercy in the medical wing, you had an appropriate level of authority to be given one. Mercy didn't like to wear hers inside, and could be seen without as often as with it. You put the rest of your gear into the active duty locker (stolen from Angela) and went about your day as usual. You got a few double takes from newbies who didn't know what was going on, but otherwise it seemed most of the people on active duty already knew that Mercy was out. Still, that didn't mean that you were off the hook on the ward, you still had a few people to look after.

 

* * *

 

 

A week passed, the briefings were as dry as you expected. Operational information on things happening with Talon, updates on other teams, but it was quiet. None of Talon's key players had been sighted for weeks. You had gotten a little time to talk with some of the active duty team, who'd spent most of their time off-base and away from you.

You were doing your usual form filling in the office when the call came through the loudspeakers. "Active duty to the hangar, active duty to the hangar please." You packed away the documents and logged out of your computer before jogging through the base. You peeled out into the hangar, where several other operatives were already assembled at the staging area. A temporary spot surrounded by crates and filled with steel chairs, a holographic board and a tent. It had grown increasingly elaborate over time, but Winston was always insistent of making an actual designated area for the team to meet. The location was just too convenient though, only an arms length from the lockers and a 30 second jog from the main landing pad.

Marland, the chief intelligence officer was already prepared to deliver a talk. You take a seat, and soon enough the rest of the squad arrives. "All right, can I get a bit of quiet here. We're short on time." A few snickers die out as he grabs everyone's attention.

"We just got a big report from our men in Western Europe. Talon is planning an attack on a Russian research facility. The leader of the institute is this man, Malkin..." an image of an older man appears on the holoboard. "He's big money, and has the ear of Russia's president. Talon usually isn't interested in grabbing tech, especially from places like this. They're probably after personal files, information, which they can use to blackmail him. I don't need to say what a shitstorm it'd be if Talon could control somebody as influential as him.

"The system the facility uses makes sure that external attacks are out of the question. They need to get a hacker into the facility and give them hard access to the network. That means that Talon operatives are going to be deploying in the surrounding area, I'd rather that they not get anywhere near the place. The area around the base is heavily developed industrial estate, try to keep collateral damage to an absolute minimum. We'll be deploying marksmen onto these buildings here," he says, pointing to several tall buildings on a holographic map.

"Your first responsibility is to let everyone know where they're coming from. Looking at the ground clearance, we think that they'll be coming from the north. So I want a squad to form a line here to keep them out if they are. Everyone else is on mobile support, listen to the squad leaders and co-ordinate a defence. And as usual, no identifying markers. Berets off, badges covered, Russia isn't a friendly place. We don't have long to get there and set up, apparently they're moving sometime in the early morning. You'll be first priority on take off, so if you're motion sick, swallow your damn pills. Further intel is already in the ship's system, go over it again before you arrive.

"This is a high priority operation, that means medics, and full load gear. Dismissed."

You pull the beret off and shove it into one of your pockets. The others stand up and move over to the lockers, where they begin to equip themselves. Your hands shakes slightly as the nerves set in. This isn't low risk in the slightest. Still, you were chosen to join Overwatch for a reason. One of the team members approaches, "You feeling okay?"

You nod, taking off the coat and replacing it with the bulletproof vest. "I trained for this, it was gonna' happen eventually." He nods and remains silent for a moment.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing to your primary gun.

"Don't ask, the tech department made it."

He sucks in air through clenched teeth, "Oh yeah, just leave it at that man."

Leave it at that indeed.


End file.
